


beyond, really, any early morning talk about it

by sapphyshipseverything



Series: body & soul [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Happy 100th birthday Steve, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, based off the poem 'Happiness' by Ramond Carter, brief mentions of the extended Barnes and Rogers families, bucky barnes has a soft spot a mile wide for steve rogers, depression era hardship alluded to, the boys are about 12 in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphyshipseverything/pseuds/sapphyshipseverything
Summary: “Happiness. It comes on/unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,/any early morning talk about it.”-Raymond Carver, HappinessThe sun has yet to rise as Bucky makes his way over to the Rogers’ apartment, the busy streets of Brooklyn deserted, for once. Bucky likes the quiet. It’s like the world is holding its breath, the rhythm of the city pausing before the working day starts again for everyone.Technically, it’s Steve who gets paid to get up this early and deliver papers to the neighbourhood, but Steve still hasn’t recovered from that cold he got a few weeks back and he needs help to carry the bag. Not wanting to worry his mother, and being the stubborn fool he always was, Steve hadn’t told anyone how bad it was, how much his back and aching limbs were troubling him.aka Bucky Barnes is in love with Steve Rogers but neither of them knows that yet.





	beyond, really, any early morning talk about it

**Author's Note:**

> long time reader, first-time writer of Steve and Bucky. I hope I did them justice. The poem I based this off can be found here ( https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=36049 ) It's not required reading, but I'll recommend you read it anyway because it's a wonderful poem.
> 
> Thanks to Ligia who helped me stay motivated to write this, and who put up with me rambling about these two <3

 

The sun has yet to rise as Bucky makes his way over to the Rogers’ apartment, the busy streets of Brooklyn deserted, for once. Bucky likes the quiet. It’s like the world is holding its breath, the rhythm of the city pausing before the working day starts again for everyone.

Technically, it’s Steve who gets paid to get up this early and deliver papers to the neighbourhood, but Steve still hasn’t recovered from that cold he got a few weeks back and he needs help to carry the bag. Not wanting to worry his mother, and being the stubborn fool he always was, Steve hadn’t told anyone how bad it was, how much his back and aching limbs were troubling him.

Bucky noticed anyway.

He always noticed everything about Steve. It’s like he has this inexplicable awareness for anything to do with his best friend, ever since he got pulled into that first fight defending him. If anyone ever called him out on it- which they hadn’t so far- Bucky would have said it came from being the oldest sibling at home. He and Steve were closer than most brothers, so of course he paid attention. Of course he noticed when Steve turned up at school so stiff he could barely move, his gait so straight and unnatural because he was in pain and trying not to show it.  Bucky despairs at Steve’s stubbornness sometimes, his tendency to tough things out on his own.  Steve was so bone-tired last week that he didn’t pay any attention to what they were being taught, and Bucky didn’t pay attention either because he was too busy worrying about Steve.

 Bucky’s heart had ached to see him like that, pushing himself beyond his limits, because he knows Steve’s ma needs even the small amount of money his paper round brings in to the house. It’s why he’d offered to help- after asking his own ma if it was the right thing to do, or if it was rubbing his nose in somewhere it wasn’t wanted.  She’d got all misty-eyed on him and fetched him one of pa’s old sweaters to wear to keep him warm. Bucky figures that means he’d done the right thing. Plus, it would give him and Steve more time together. Bucky couldn’t seem to get enough of Steve, these days.

There’s a chill in the air, winter not quite ready to melt into spring, and Bucky thanks his lucky stars that his ma had given him that sweater. Bucky had thought his walk to school was cold, but being up this early, without the sun to offer any warmth, makes him realise he doesn’t know a thing about what cold is. The thick, red wool is scratchy against his skin, and the sweater sure as hell doesn’t fit him right, but it does the job of keeping the worst of the cool air from getting at him. Bucky quickens his pace, wanting to get to Steve’s and get this over with quickly, so he can bundle them both up inside somewhere warm afterwards.

Bucky knows better than to knock on the front door and risk waking up Mrs Rogers after her long shift at the hospital, so he waits, his back leaning against the cool brick of the wall, blowing into his clasped hands to try and keep the feeling in his fingertips.  

When Steve finally opens the door, his hair is still sticking up everywhere from bed, and his eyes are half closed with sleep. Bucky isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light, but the dark circles under Steve’s eyes are bruise-deep in colour.

“You sure you’re alive enough to do this Stevie?” Bucky tries to keep his voice light, teasing even. He bites down on the urge to offer to do this alone, to let Steve catch up on some more sleep.

He doesn’t quite succeed in keeping the worry out of his voice, though, and Steve prickles at his attempts to coddle him. “Been doing this longer than you, Buck,” he says through gritted teeth. “I think I can manage.”

Bucky decides not to respond, opting to roll his eyes instead. Steve’s always had this tough shell, that even he can’t break through sometimes. They fall into step beside each other, Steve tugging his cap angrily over his unruly hair. There isn’t any point riling Steve up more, and Bucky knows he only lashes out like this because he’s sore about needing his help at all. It’s easier to push people away than let them in, after all.

 They don’t say anything for several blocks as they make their way to Mr Morrow’s shop to pick up the papers, but as they walk they drift closer to each other, close enough that they’re almost touching. Right as the newsstand comes into view, Steve gently nudges Bucky’s side with his elbow, a sheepish smile on his face, which is his way of saying “I’m sorry.” Bucky nudges him back, his way of saying “Forgiven.” Bucky hopes that the blush staining his cheeks can be explained away by the cold.

Once they’ve gotten the bag of papers that need to be delivered- and damn, is it heavy enough for Bucky to wonder how Steve ever does this on his own, his arms are the size of _toothpicks_ \- they start off on Steve’s familiar route, working their way down street after street of brownstones, weaving a literal paper trail amongst the city.

They don’t see many people as they make their way across their patch of Brooklyn, most of the city still asleep in their beds. It’s easy to get lost in the rhythm of the work, handing papers to Steve and watching while he walks up the steps of each building, stuffing the papers in the pigeonholes of whoever’s ordered one.

Maybe it’s the sight of Steve he gets lost in, the little details about his friend that he never normally allows himself to truly take stock of.  Maybe it’s the soft almost-darkness that lets him feel more comfortable admiring his friend. Bucky watches the way his cheeks go ruddy from the cold, the tip of his nose pink. He can’t help but smile at how Steve keeps fixing his cap, pushing the brim of it back ever so slightly, out of his eyes, because Steve’s head is so damn small it keeps tilting forward. Normally, he would jump at the chance to rib Steve a little, call him his little garden gnome pal with his hat and his rosy cheeks, but something stops Bucky from saying anything. Maybe it’s the way Steve smiles at him, trusting and kind and grateful that he’s there, like Bucky’s hung the damn moon by just waking up a little early and carrying a bag of papers to lighten the load just a little for his friend.  Whatever it is, it steals both their voices and they keep up their work in companionable silence.

When they reach the docks they see more people, men hauling boxes off ships, their clothes already damp with sweat. Even with the grime of the docks all over it, the water looks beautiful, the moon reflecting off in silvery waves. Bucky gets so distracted by the sight of it that Steve has to nudge him three times before he moves his arm out of the way to let him get to the papers still in the bag.

The route is long enough that by the time the bag doesn’t dig so deeply into Bucky’s shoulder, the sky has lost its dark blue colour, giving way to a paler shade. It’s almost light enough that Bucky can see by the light of the sky alone, although not quite- the streetlights can’t be turned off just yet. It won’t be much longer before the sun is truly back and the day begins in earnest, but now on the strange cusp of dawn, Bucky thinks he could stay in this moment forever.

He wishes he could put his arm around Steve, or maybe have Steve put his arm around him. It’s what he’s been doing all morning anyhow, letting Steve lean on him, even if they’ve hardly touched. Bucky would carry Steve as far as he could, farther even, if he had to. If Steve would let him. It hurts to watch him struggle on his own, too damn proud to accept help. He wishes he would realise that Bucky likes helping him, likes being leant on.

He pushes his frustration down. Steve is letting himself lean on Bucky now, and all Bucky has to do is stay upright. Maybe if he does, Steve will let him in like this again. Bucky hopes so.

When the bag is finally empty, they make their way back to the Barnes’, to pick up their school books. Bucky’s ma has two cups of coffee waiting for them to warm their hands, so weak that it barely tastes like coffee at all. But the china is warm against his skin, and they stand across from each other, their backs on the counter, grasping the warmth between their hands, shy smiles on their lips.

They’ll have to leave in a moment Bucky knows, to avoid being late, but for now, it’s enough to watch each other drink in the soft light of a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> write me a comment and I'll love you like rlb?


End file.
